The Paymaster had an unpleasant little laugh that when he chose he could use with the sting of a whip though accompanied by never a word. He flicked the surplus of his snuff from his stock and gave this annoying little laugh, but he did not allow it to go unaccompanied, for he had overheard the General’s speech to Mr. Spencer.
“No doubt she’s all you say or think,” said he dryly, “I’m sure I’m no judge, but there’s a rumour abroad that she’s a big handful. A want of discipline perhaps, no more than that—”
“You know the old saying, Captain,” said the General, “bachelors’ bairns are aye well trained.”
The Paymaster started in a temper, and “I have a son,” said he, “and——”
The General smiled with meaning.
“——A son; at least I’ll make him that, and I’ll show you something of training!”
Turner smiled anew, with a mock little bow and a wave of the fingers, a trick picked up abroad and maddening in its influence on a man with the feeling that it meant he was too small to have words with.
“I’ll train him—I’ll train him to hate your very name,” said the Paymaster with an oath.
“I’m obliged for your cake and wine,” said the General, still smiling, “and I wish you all good day.” He lifted his hat and bowed and left the room.
“This is a most unfortunate contretemps,” said Brooks, all trembling. “If I had thought a little whistle, a mere tibia of ash, had power to precipitate this unlucky and unseemly belligerence I would never have opened my desk.”